KSK

Next chapter is up... A few good Kerbals The smell of damp grass filled Erlin’s nostrils, Kerbol not yet high enough in the sky to drive off the morning dew. By the side of the road, dewbells stretched towards the new day, their goblet shaped flowers unfurling into carpets of golden petals. The Berelgan stretched out before him; neatly regimented grids of crop fields reaching all the way back to the old fashioned manor house buildings, toylike in the distance. Behind them, the glass domes of the Dunan agronomy complex glinted in the morning sunlight. He bent down to retie his bootlaces, before setting off along the, now well-worn, footpath to the planting site. The sapling stood in its fenced-off clearing, a single ring of slender side branches just beginning to emerge from the main stem. Erlin opened the gate and walked over to it, retrieving a measuring tape and laboratory field notebook from his poncho as he went. He squatted down by the sapling and wrapped the tape around its trunk being careful not to disturb the still-delicate leaf clusters. Nodding to himself, he made a note of the trunk diameter then measured its height. Finally, he pulled a magnifying glass out of his pocket and examined the leaves at length, occasionally jotting down entries in his notebook. Dropping his notebook back into its pocket, Erlin fished out a waxed paper package from his inside pocket and sat down by the gate, gazing contemplatively at the sapling. He unwrapped his breakfast and took a slow bite of egg and greenleaf roll. Looks fine above the soil. Only average height and diameter for its age but that’s nothing to worry about. His eyes dropped to the patch of bare earth around the base of the young Kerm tree. If only we could see what’s happening down there. Take some samples, run a GC or two. He shook his head in frustration. And if we were really lucky the probes wouldn’t sever anything vital. So we wait and hope that the cuttings take. Then we hope they Knit. Then we hope that somebody can Commune with the new Kerm. But do we really understand what we’ve made here? Binad faca-factad? Erlin swallowed a mouthful of roll and sighed. It’s healthy - that’s the main thing. Right now that’s all we can do for it. He finished his breakfast and climbed to his feet, brushing crumbs off the front of his poncho. Closing the gate behind him he walked back to the road and set off back to the laboratory buildings, head bowed in thought. —————— There was a knock at the door. “Phone call for you, sir.” Al looked up from the schematic he was studying. “Did they leave a name?” “It’s your brother sir. He said it was urgent - something about the weather being bracing but fine.” His secretary gave him a confused look. “I’ll take it in my office.” Al turned to the engineers beside him. “Approved. We’ll give that a try first. He signed his name on the corner of the schematic, nodded to everyone and left the room. He marched along the corridor to his own office, flipped the privacy sign on the door to Do Not Disturb and closed it behind him. “Al Kerman.” He was answered by a snort. “Kerman he says. You’ve been flying that fancy desk too long, little brother.” “And don’t I know it. What’ve you got for me, Chad?” “Medics have got her trussed up like a Year’s End wagga but they say she’ll fly again. In a few months. If she doesn’t do anything stupid while she’s waiting.” “And by ‘stupid’ they mean ‘anything they tell her not to do’?” “That’s about the shape of it,” his brother agreed. He paused. “She’s good, Al. No shortage of guts - she flew those lashed-up torpedo bombers at Humilisia for Kerm’s sake. Don’t know much about the flying end of things but I’ve never heard of anyone badmouthing her on that score either…” “There’s no shortage of good pilots in the world either,” Al interrupted. “With guts to match.” “Nope. But I’m thinking there’s not many who’d keep their heads screwed on under unknown fire, figure out what was coming at them and damn nearly out-fly it.” Al paused. “No,” he said thoughtfully. “No, that takes a little more than good stick-and-rudder work. How did you plan to set this up?” “Rank rubs off, little brother. The Fleet Commander has his head screwed on too, or so I hear. I’m thinking it might be on tight enough for him to spare an ear for Commander Valentina’s old sergeant.” “And if he doesn’t like what he hears?” Another snort. “He chews me up, spits me out and busts me down to deputy pot-scrubber on some Kerm-forsaken airfield at the north end of nowhere. Suits me - I never liked warm weather anyway.” Chadmore paused. “For sure he’s not going to kick me out, Al. Not whilst I’ve still got both legs, all my arms and enough left in my head to walk in a straight line.” —————— There was a knock at the door. Fleet Commander Gusden looked up from the papers strewn across the scuffed and worn table serving as his temporary desk and saw the stolid face of his adjutant in the doorway. “Flight Sergeant Chadmore Kerman to see you sir.” Gusden nodded. “Show him in please.” He waited for the door to close before running an appraising eye over the kerbal standing stiffly in front of him. “At ease, sergeant. What can I do for you?” He waited for a second before raising his eyebrows. “Well? Speak up, soldier.” Rank rubs off, Chadmore reminded himself sardonically. His tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth. “It’s the Commander, sir.” he said at last. Gusden looked at him neutrally. “Yes?” “I wanted to talk about her, sir. That is…” Oh, Blight it all. “Permission to speak freely, sir?” “Granted,” said Gusden dryly. “If only to stop you wasting any more time, sergeant.” Chadmore winced inwardly at the Fleet Commander’s pointed tone. “I think Commander Valentina deserves an honourable discharge, sir.” The temperature in the room dropped several degrees. “And what leads you to that fascinating conclusion, sergeant?” said Gusden conversationally. “Duty to Kolus, sir. The Commander can do more for our country outside of border security, sir.” “Is that right?” Gusden leaned forward, resting his forearms on his desk. “Enlighten me.” “The Space Program, sir.” Intrigued despite himself, Gusden sat back in his chair. “I have it on good authority, sergeant, that a considerable number of our brave kerbonauts wouldn’t know one end of an airplane from the other. No doubt this is one reason why spacecraft are notoriously lacking in wings. Would you care to explain why I should transfer one of my best officers to a program that she appears to be manifestly overqualified for?” “Because they’re not winged yet, sir.” The corner of Gusden’s eye twitched. “Be careful, sergeant,” he said softly. “I’d hate to lose a good kerbal to pot scrubbing duty – or worse. Now - what do you know about winged spacecraft – and how?” “No more than the trade press do, sir. I know about the Skyhawk program and C7’s ambitions for it. I know that C7 are still recruiting test pilots but apart from that?” Chadmore kept his face carefully expressionless. “I never could pry a secret out of my little brother, sir. And working for C7 hasn’t made him any more talkative.” “Your brother, sergeant?” “Yes, sir. Director Al Kerman. Director of the Skyhawk program I’m guessing, although I don’t even know that much for certain.” Gusden drummed his fingers slowly on the edge of his desk. “I need to find extra duties for my flight sergeants,” he said, half to himself. “They’re obviously not busy enough. Have you been recruiting for C7 for long, sergeant?” he added. Chadmore held himself very still. “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time sir,” he said quietly, “but no Kolan is working for them because of me.” He saw Gusden’s ‘carry on’ gesture from the corner of his eye. “Since the first Mün landing, sir. Sitting under those flags, somewhere between Kolus, Firesvar and Wakira – and for a handful of days it didn’t matter where we were. We put all the troubles of the world to one side - a bunch of kerbals listening to two other kerbals walking on the Mün.” For the first time since entering his office, Chadmore looked Gusden squarely in the eye. “I’ve known pilots who’ve ejected before, sir. I’ve seen what it can do to them and I’ve got a good idea how long the medics will be keeping the Commander grounded for. If we’re still fighting by then, then I honestly believe that whatever she can do up in space will do more to end the war than anything she can do on the front lines.” Chadmore drew himself to attention. “If the Fleet Commander disagrees, this soldier volunteers for any duty or additional discipline that the Fleet Commander sees fit!” “At ease.” Gusden pulled a file out of his desk drawer and made a note. “I’m not in the habit of handing out discipline for opinions honestly expressed, sergeant. But if I ever hear of any kerbal under my command being anything less than wholly committed to their duties – and their duties alone… I trust we understand one another, sergeant?” “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” “I’ll take your comments under advisement, sergeant. Dismissed.” Chadmore saluted, turned smartly on his heel and marched out of the room. Gusden watched him leave before getting to his feet and quietly walking through to his anteroom. His adjutant looked up from his files. “Sir?” “A coffee if you’d be so good. And please find me Director Lodan’s number at the Kerbin Space Agency.” —————— Val gritted her teeth and pulled herself up in what seemed like the hundredth chin-up of the session. A mash of talc and sweat glued her hands to the exercise bars, their arched middle section shaped to provide headroom for the exerciser and, Val thought privately, resembling an upside down set of handlebars from her first tricycle. The brace around her midriff and lower back itched abominably. Val finished her chin-ups, swung her feet forward and carefully lowered herself onto the set of steps placed under the exercise bar. Stiffly, she climbed down onto the grass and stood for a moment, working her exercise top back and forth under the brace. It helped a little. Other pieces of exercise equipment dotted the lawn like pieces of abstract sculpture, most of them supporting a sitting, standing, or in many cases folded over, kerbal dressed in soft grey running trousers and matching top. Many of the kerbals were wearing braces of varying sizes and designs, some of them also wearing their clothing knotted at the shoulder or hip, the better to stop an empty sleeve or trouser leg from catching on anything. Hospital staff kept a discreet watch, intervening only when necessary. Tall hedges screened off the exercise area, ensuring a degree of privacy for them and their charges. Gusden followed Al through a leafy archway and stood quietly by the hedge, watching the other kerbal come to terms with what he was seeing. One of the hospital staff spotted them and walked over to greet them, eyebrows lifting slightly at the sight of Gusden. “Good afternoon, Fleet Commander. How may I help?” “We’re here to see Commander Valentina,” Gusden replied. “We’re earlier than we expected, so please – at her convenience.” “She should be finishing her session any time now, sir. Please take a seat and I’ll let her know you’re here.” Gusden and Al perched on an old fashioned wrought-iron bench designed, Al thought, to discourage anyone from sitting down for too long. He saw the grey garbed figure limping towards them and, relieved, got politely to his feet. Gusden followed suit, smiling faintly at the look on the newcomer’s face. “At her convenience, the kerbal says, when he’s the one turning up early. Make this quick please, Gusden, before these ever-so-fetching garments stick themselves to me permanently.” “As you wish,” said Gusden mildly, ignoring the incredulous expression on Al’s face. “Although you might be more polite to our guest after he’s come all this way to meet you. Val – meet Al Kerman. Al, this is Commander Valentina.” Al dipped his head. “Good to meet you, Commander.” He studied the other thoughtfully, taking in her cropped black hair and deep, copper-brown eyes, wrinkled at the corners and sizing him up just as thoughtfully. Somehow the unflattering grey exercise-wear and heavy spinal brace around her middle only added to her air of calm authority. Another of the hospital staff hurried up with a poncho and handed it to her respectfully. Val smiled at him in thanks and worked it over her head, scowling briefly as it rucked up over her brace. “So, what can I do for you, Al?” Val narrowed her eyes. “Al Kerman – I know that name.” “Possibly,” said Al. “I flew Cloudrunners once upon a time. PM1 – and then PM2. PM2 was the better plane by far,” he added blandly. “Production model 1…” Val looked at him with sudden respect. “Are you still flying for C7?” “Not unless you count desks,” Al said dryly. “I’m mostly a manager these days.” He glanced around before turning to face Gusden. “Perhaps we could find somewhere quieter, sir?” Gusden nodded. “Agreed. Is your back well enough for a short walk, Commander?” Curiosity piqued, Val nodded. Gusden eyed her for a moment then led the way through the hedge and across the hospital lawn to one of the small, Doreni style formal gardens that dotted the grounds. “This should be sufficient.” He gestured at Al. “Please continue.” “We’re building spaceplanes,” Al said. “And we’re going to need pilots for them. Current state of the art is our Skyhawk single-seater rocket plane but even stretching the envelope as far as we can, it ain’t useful for much more than a single hop into the black and a dead-stick landing. But we’re working on something just a bit bigger.” Val listened in fascination – and growing excitement – as Al sketched out the details of the MACE air-breathing rocket engine. “It’s an old idea – looked good on paper but…” Val rolled her eyes. “Paper planes always look perfect and fly perfect – on paper.” Al favoured her with a rare grin. “Exactly. But this time, we’re thinking the real deal is going to look even better. The engine is specced and tested. Airframe construction for the demonstrators is on-going. We’ve got a long string of problems still to solve before we’re anywhere near a production model but the first task is to get that engine into a fuselage and get that fuselage into the sky. Then we get it past the sky.” Val’s eyes lost their focus. “Why?” she asked at last. “Lots of reasons,” said Al. “Some of them aren’t important and most of them I can’t tell you about anyway. Yet. But the big one is Starseed. If that’s ever going to work, we’re going to need a lot of kerbals in orbit – and putting them there three at a time in an oversized tin can just ain’t going to cut it.” “So we fly them there,” said Gusden softly. “And we bring the plane home again,” finished Al. “Check it over, refuel and relaunch. So – what do you say, Commander? How would you like to come fly for us?” Val stared at Gusden’s unperturbed expression. That figures. “What about Ferl and Cal?” she said. A shadow flickered behind Gusden’s eyes. “We’ll look after them,” he replied. “We can’t afford to lose good, able bodied kerbals and even if Cal can’t set foot in a cockpit again without getting the shakes, there’s more duty slots ground-side than we have people to fill them.” “So why do I get to get out? Sir.” “Because, in the words of our dear Press, we need more beacons of the kerbal spirit, Commander. We don’t have enough people to fill all those duty slots either.” Val shivered under her poncho. Then she turned resolutely to Al. “Count me in.” ——————— The fibres threaded through the soil, a gritty, mineral laden clay now enriched by the remains of generations of plant life - clover to begin with, then stouter legumes and finally other crops. Consumed, reformed, passed along the countless webs of prey and predation that wove the soil together in an intricate tapestry, woven on a loom of other fibres. Fibres that were recognisably self. Hormone gradients rippled through the soil. The fibres followed them, no more able to resist than a flower could resist growing towards the light. Flurries of signals poured along the hairlike threads as they met and touched. The ripples became cascades, biochemical torrents that drew other fibres to the trails marked out by the pioneers. At a hundred, then a thousand, then still more points, the fibres twisted together. Meshing. The signals intensified, racing out from the contact points like the waves from a handful of gravel tossed into a still pond. Cancelling, amplifying, setting off secondary waves of signals. Modulating, feeding forward, feeding back. Random bursts gradually absorbed into the whole; acquiring definition, purpose, and above all, meaning. Knitting. Thought exploded through the soil in a searing burst of revelation. And with thought came identities. Thirty-eight nascent personalities, imperfectly overlapping, same but not same. Thirty-eight sets of memories suddenly crammed into a single consciousness with no time for reason or rationalising. The explosion faltered, abruptly sucked down into a spiralling maelstrom of doubt, panic and then naked terror. Collapsing inward, triggering a last desperate message, a frantic cry for help before the inevitable shattering. And in a final silent scream, a tsunami of black spots flooded over the leaves of thirty eight young Kerm trees. ——————— Gerselle jammed her head into the leaf cluster. The leaves whipped around her forehead, Communion hairs tearing through her skin like a thousand needles and embedding themselves in her skull. A tornado of discordant, shrieking thoughts ripped through her head like an ice pick; raw, uncontrollable terror searing every nerve in her body. In the distance somebody or something shouted her name. A streak of green light blasted through the chaos, shimmered and resolved into a chain of figures, all holding hands. A hand reached out for her; the face behind it somehow familiar. She flung herself at it, fingertips straining across the gap, scrabbling for purchase. Gerselle! To me! Fingers hooked over hers, grasping, catching hold, clasping her by the hand. Reassurance and understanding swept through her, a lifeline to cling to against the shards of dislocated memories and fractured personalities that battered at her, threatening to sweep her away with them. I’ve got you. Hold on my love – hold on! Jonton flung his thoughts through the maelstrom separating him from Gerselle. Distantly he felt her momentary panic disappear, felt her resolve as she reached out in welcome to the fragments of Kerm mind despite their terror crashing through her. Slowly the storm began to abate, the shards flocking around her, melding with her, drawing strength and reassurance from her presence. Reassurance washed over him from a different side. An image of a Kerm tree appeared, cupped within Enely’s hands. The tree shimmered, became thirty eight trees surrounding a lone kerbal. A beam of light rayed out from one tree, reflected off the kerbal and connected to a second tree. Another, differently coloured, beam bounced off the kerbal, linking two more trees together. He heard Enely’s voice calling out to the shards. Don’t be afraid. You sense many things but they are only one… Rainbow fans of light danced between the trees, deflecting off trunks and kerbal alike, connecting the trees one by one. The kerbal vanished, leaving thirty eight trees enmeshed in a web of light. You are many – but you are one. You are Kerm. The flock of shards, thronging around Gerselle, began to quiver. Jonton sensed confusion then a sudden spark of curiosity. One shard shivered, rocked violently for a moment then burst free, soaring over to Enely’s trees and trailing a cloud of smaller shards behind it. A stab of pain lanced through him and he heard Gerselle crying out. A second and then a third shard broke free, trailing glittering fragments behind them. Gerselle screamed and a horrified realisation broke over him. Stop, Enely! It’s too fast - too soon! Let them go! The remaining Kerm shards erupted from Gerselle’s mind. Frantically, Jonton hurled himself at her, tried to wrap himself around her, to catch the expanding cloud of fragments and gather them to him. For a second they held. Gerselle! To me! The fragments of memory and personality swirled, twisted around him and then blew apart, everything that Gerselle was and had been, tumbling past him like leaves driven by a hurricane. Jonton! Help me…J… GERSELLE! The fragments streamed past him and out of sight. The mental link connecting him to Gerselle flickered, dimmed and went out. << Chapter 76 Chapter 78>>

As @cantab said, they do the trick. The model itself is pretty heavy which helps keep it on the stands. You might want to stick baseplates under them for added reassurance. Fantastic set all in all.

Old school Lego for an old school rocket. I think that's a fair comment though. Giving it viewable internals whilst keeping everything robust enough to be reconfigurable would have been challenging. As it is, the first stage has got quite a heft to it - the finished article is going to be a beast.

Sort of. I'm four bags of bricks in (out of 12), with a couple more to go to finish the first stage plus engines. It does have internal tanks after a fashion which serve as a scaffold to build the outer skin around. Not yet sure whether there any easily detachable panels to let you inspect them though. Although actually it doesn't matter - this thing is pure epic! Way cooler in actuality than it looks on the teaser pictures. And the instruction booklet is fab - the cover is done up in old style sepia and wireframe drawings, with snippets about the Apollo program before the for-real building instructions start. Totally worth the money so far and I've got another 8 bags to go!

I'm on my way home toting a rather large parcel. Temptation to open it on the train is rising...

Thanks for the heads up @cantab! Just ordered mine - am collecting from store tomorrow afternoon. Good thing I was taking the day off tomorrow anyway - my day just got solidly booked.

Oh definitely! I haven't followed his videos for a while but if he's drinking local Scottish stuff, you'll have no lack of curious names (and excellent beers) to choose from Anyhow - I'll stop here rather than veering any further off topic!

You'd probably learn not to drink too much obscure ale whilst playing KSP. Bad for the head - bad for Jeb's head.

Keep an eye on the list of crew hires at the Astronaut Complex - you may see a few other familiar names and tributes in there. But yes - as @ZooNamedGames said, Valentina Kerman is indeed named for Valentina Tereshkova.

"This is a recorded message. We are currently having a snowball fight with the lost souls. Please call back later." - Beelzebub.

And with one fell stroke, all our calculations are ruined. Ruined I tell you. Or at least mine were. Zeroth assumption - this was a projectile in free flight, not one being shot down a barrel. Cool looking design though!

You're welcome. Just check that last assumption OK? The other folks on this thread are correct - you do need to know how long that force is applied for.

D'oh. Good point - thanks. @ARS - definitely double check my working then, although hopefully the general approach to solving the problem should still help.

No - as far as we know, the projectile is unpowered, so the rocket equation isn't required. We need to make four assumptions. 1. This scenario takes place on Earth and the projectile is falling under normal gravity. 2. Collisions with the ground are perfectly inelastic - i.e. the projectile hits the ground and stops. 3. The secondary acceleration applied, after 1m of travel, is applied horizontally. 4. The secondary acceleration is instantaneous and not applied over time. Equations of motion 1. F = ma - where F = force applied, m = mass and a = acceleration 2. v = u + at - where v = final velocity, u = initial velocity, a = acceleration and t= time. Turns out we don't need this 3. s = ut + 1/2at^2 - where s = displacement, a and t are as previously defined and t^2 = time squared. To solve this problem we resolve the projectile motion horizontally and vertically. In other words we can treat horizontal motion and vertical motion of the projectile separately. We calculate time of flight of the projectile by considering it's vertical motion only and then range of the projectile by considering its horizontal motion only. For question 1, Equation 1 allows you to calculate horizontal acceleration and equation 2 then allows you to calculate horizontal velocity of the projectile after the force is applied. For question 2: Equation 3 lets you calculate the time of flight of your projectile by considering the vertical motion of the projectile only. Here: u=0 (since the projectile is fired horizontally and initial vertical speed is zero) so equation 3 simplifies to s = 1/2at^2 where a = acceleration due to gravity and s = 0.2m. Plug the numbers in and you can calculate t(total), i.e the time it takes the projectile to hit the ground. To calculate the range we need to calculate time t1, that is the time at which the secondary force is applied Using equation 3 again and considering horizontal motion only. a = 0 (since no horizontal acceleration is applied between time t=0 and time t1), so the equation simplifies to s = ut1. We know s (1m) and we know u (900m/s) so we can calculate time t1. We can now break the horizontal motion of the projectile into two stages: In the first stage, the projectile travels at horizontal speed 900m/s for a time t1. In the second stage, the projectile travels at a new horizontal velocity (which we calculated in question 1) for an unknown time t2. We can calculate time t2 as t2 = t(total)-t1, where t(total) = time of flight (which we calculated above) and t1 is the time at which the force was applied (which we calculated above) Using equation 3 we can calculate the distance travelled in each stage and sum them to give the total range. EDIT. Because we assume that the force is applied instantaneously, the projectile is not accelerating horizontally during each stage. This allows us to simplify equation 3. For the case where no secondary force is applied, we simply use the same simplified equation 3 to calculate the distance travelled in time t(total). For question 3: As per question 2 but with different numbers! Hope this helps!

Other than that possible science boost, I'm not seeing any gameplay advantages here I'm afraid - at least not for the stock game. As @Alshain pointed out, standard response to bad weather is to scrub the launch. Which hardly affects anything because there are no logistics involved in Stock. Launch today, launch tomorrow or launch next week - it makes almost no difference. The only exception I can think of off the top of my head is if you miss a transfer window and are running that interplanetary mission on a very tight delta-V budget but even then, the worst that happens is that you need to redesign your ship - which happens outside of game time anyway. If you're running a modded game with say KCT and some kind of life support, then launch delays could become more important. Although even then they sound more like random punishments to me, rather than anything particularly fun. YMMV of course.

Depends if you define 'kerbalish' as 'hur hur, moar boosterz and strutz' or not. Besides, SpaceX have abandoned propellant cross-feed as far as I recall, at least for the near future. Leaving them with good old fashioned strap-on boosters, which are a tried and tested way of launching more payload mass.

If I'm reading @Scoutman1121's post correctly, I don't think he's talking about interstellar travel at all. Just an option to either play in the stock Kerbol system (so there's your reference point for comparing achievements) or play in a single procedurally generated system instead. Sounds like a great idea to me however many times it's been requested. Throw in some kind of fog-of-discovery mechanic and suddenly you've got a decent exploration game.

I would say the same about haggis.

Yeah. I mean.... yeah. *shakes head* I don't mind snakes - corn snakes, the smaller constrictors - fascinating animals to handle. But a rattler? I ain't going near no rattler. Kissing is Right Out!

Okay, this is a public safety announcement. 'Snake kissing' is an in-story pseudo expletive that kerbonauts occasionally use over open mike. Actual snake kissing can be dangerous and is not recommended in the slightest by this author. TL: DR - don't be like this person.

Sure. From my own story: Jeb's Junkyard and Spacecraft Parts Company. The place where it all began. Kicked out of the Kerbin Institute for Aeronautical Research (popularly known simply as The Institute) for wasting time and money on ridiculous flights of fancy, Jeb, his research supervisor Wernher and a group of like-minded enthusiasts (the self-styled Kerbin Interplanetary Society) set up the Junkyard to support and finance their rocket building ambitions. A smart young kerbal named Geneney Kerman had the bright idea of bidding on a recycling contract for the Institute which turned out to be an excellent way of obtaining a lot of good (if slightly worn) second hand equipment and parts. After many, many trials and tribulations, the KIS finally managed to build a crewed sub-orbital rocket. Jeb, Bill and Bob's pioneering first flight aboard the Kerbal 1 only reached an altitude of 36km - but that was enough. Bill's photographs of his homeworld from high altitude sparked a media sensation - and the beginnings of the Space Age on Kerbin. Rockomax Inc "Think better - think bigger." The Speciality Fireworks Company, was already a successful company owned and managed by Ademone Kerman, ham radio enthusiast and amateur astronomer. Inspired by Kerbin's first ever artificial satellite, the KIS launched Kerbin 1, Ademone transformed her company into Rockomax Inc - and set out on a road that would reach further than she would ever have dreamed. Probodyne Systems Probodyne (nicknamed Probodobodyne by certain irrepressible employees), was a non-governmental organisation set up by the newly formed Kerbin Space Agency. Specialising in robotic probes, Probodyne was tasked with nothing less than exploring the entire Kerbol system. The reasons - and dire need - for that task were to be kept a closely guarded secret...

Haven't signed. Much as I like KSP, there are plenty of other actual astronauts to name the first Dragon II after. Or, continuing with an existing SpaceX theme, there's no shortage of other amusing Culture ship names to choose from. I think Ultimate Ship the Second would work quite nicely, although it's tempting fate a bit. Profit Margin would be an honest name too - perhaps a little too honest!

Congrats on the new job - that's great news!

With any luck the pie will expand to feed all-comers (mmmmm Space Pie ), although I haven't seen any plans for that which are much more than pie in the sky. Okay, I'll stop now.

Meesa don't think you are...